


What's A Nice Boy Like Me Doing In A Place Like This (And Will You Keep Me Company?)

by DontOffendTheBees



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Don't copy to another site, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together (kinda), Getting to Know Each Other, Height Differences, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Use, Meet-Cute, Other characters not present but mentioned, Party, Paul fucking hates musicals, Snacks & Snack Food, Ted is a menace, Time Skips, and drags theatre kids a lot, no offense to theatre kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22634497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DontOffendTheBees/pseuds/DontOffendTheBees
Summary: He should have run for the hills the second someone threw Hamilton into the shuffle, but he was a fool. A tipsy, complacent fool.In which Paul is stranded behind enemy lines, and makes an unlikely friend over pilfered snacks.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 16
Kudos: 96





	What's A Nice Boy Like Me Doing In A Place Like This (And Will You Keep Me Company?)

**Author's Note:**

> Back again with another one-day fic. It's Sunday and on Sundays I do whatever the heck I feel like- today that involved college party meet-cutes, apparently.
> 
> Quick disclaimer that might be necessary on this fic that I wrote literally today and didn't really research: I'm English AF and have never been to an American college party. I've certainly been to other variations of the 'theatre kid' gathering, but a slight suspension of disbelief may be required! Also I didn't mention/get into Jane or Emma's relationship with her but it's kind of up to you whether she's alive or dead at this point- maybe Emma dropped out because of her death, or maybe this is just how she got started with her travelling and stuff in this universe, whichever you find the most emotionally satisfying!
> 
> Enjoy <3

It wasn't that Paul _hated_ parties. There was a lot of stuff to love about parties; food and booze and quality time with friends were all things he enjoyed, in moderation. As long as he ducked out when he was getting overwhelmed- or before anyone decided to turn it into a karaoke night- he could have a pretty good time.

But that was a typical party. A _normal_ party. This… oh, god.

This was a _theatre_ party.

“Excuse me- uh, okay, that's- yep, cool. Do that, in the hallway, that’s- yep.”

You got used to seeing some pretty crazy things in the halls at parties. People doing keg stands, or playing property-destroying games, or just scattered around sucking face. And there was some of that going on, for sure- wouldn’t be a college party if there wasn’t. But it was all that, _and then some._ A lot of the make-outs were a lot more polyamorous, which was _fine,_ except when poor hapless Pauls were trying to make a quick getaway and kept tripping over tangles of people piled on top of one another like sleeping lions in the confined space. But he’d take the group make-outs over the party games any day- the games that involved standing in giant circles that you did _not_ wanna walk into by mistake lest you be roped into The Game, throwing improv lines and weird sounds back and forth until someone dropped the ball and gave themselves alcohol poisoning with the forfeit. But worst of all, _worst_ of all, was the _singing._

He should have run for the hills the second someone threw Hamilton into the shuffle, but he was a fool. A tipsy, complacent fool.

Paul ducked past a couple lesbians necking on the stairwell, head whipping round frantically in search of an exit, or even just a familiar face. Somehow he’d got separated from the group. Charlotte and Ted were probably making out somewhere, seemed likely with all these horny teenage pheromones in the air. And Bill, well, Bill was… gone. Absorbed into the ranks of the charades players in the upstairs lounge, god rest his soul. Paul’s best shot at getting anyone he knew out of here alive was probably Melissa, but in a crowd of personalities this… _big,_ she could have melted into the wallpaper by now.

_“Consider the coconut!”_

“No, thank you,” Paul squeaked, shouldering past the drunk sophomore bellowing with his shirt wrapped around his head. Fortunately, he didn’t give chase, seemingly more interested in trying to rope the stair lesbians into his singalong. Only problem was, evading him got Paul even more turned around- he had no fucking idea which way was out, and around any corner could lie untold horrors.

Overwhelmed, underprepared, and pretty much ready to kill a man for a second alone to _think,_ Paul sidled carefully along the hall he’d just turned into, listening at the doors he passed. If he heard more than a few voices, he carefully snuck past. If he heard music, he ran ‘til it was out of earshot.

He finally came up to a promising door. Not a sound to be heard. Plus it was slightly ajar, and he assumed from the glimpse of tile and cupboards that it was a kitchen. Awesome. He wound up in the kitchen at parties a lot- the place where people talked, and no one danced, at least not vigorously. Kitchens were familiar. Kitchens were _safe._

Cracking the door open a little wider- just wide enough to slip in without being ostentatious- Paul stepped into the sanctuary, letting out a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him and shut most of the cacophonous music on the other side. “Thank _god.”_

“Hey, beanpole!”

He jumped, hand tightening on the doorknob- maybe this room wasn’t as safe as he’d thought. He relaxed a little when he saw there was only one other person inside; a smallish, cutish kinda person all the way across the room, stretched up on her tiptoes towards a cabinet with her hand skimming the bottom of the highest shelf. “Uh- me?” he asked, pointing at himself awkwardly.

“You see anyone else in here?” she snorted, grunting and flopping down against the counter. “Can you grab me those Doritos?”

“Oh, sure,” Paul agreed, walking over and picking the bag off the shelf with ease.

“Fuckin’ _sweeeeet,”_ she groaned, snatching it off of him and tearing into it. “It’s all shitty storebrand tortilla chips everywhere else- they hid the good shit.”

Paul’s brow wrinkled. He didn’t realise when he blindly followed her commands that he was aiding and abetting a criminal. “So… you don’t live here?”

“Eh, kinda?” She shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

“Who _does_ live here?”

“Why?” She smirked around a mouthful of chips. “You crash the party?”

“Um, no- no, I’m here with friends. I mean. I was.”

“Lost ‘em?”

“Yeah.”

“Condolences.” She held out the bag towards him, shaking it invitingly. “And this is Casey Wilkins’ place. Well, her and a bunch of her rich friends.”

 _Casey Wilkins._ Oh, he remembered that name alright. From the cast page of the program he’d be forced to buy for the musical he’d been strongarmed into attending. He took a handful of chips. Fuck Casey. “She, uh. She a friend of yours?”

“Same way any of us are, I guess,” she said, not sounding all that enthusiastic about it. “When you spend two months cramped up backstage together it kinda necessitates bonding. ‘Specially when costume changes are a thing- you wanna be on okay terms with someone when you’re getting _slapped_ in the face with their tits.”

That was a lot to unpack. First thing that took root in Paul’s mind, however, was dread. “Oh, you were… you were in Little Shop of Horrors?”

“Yup.”

“Ah.”

“You see it?”

“Uh, yeah.” He wrinkled his nose. “I did not like it.”

She laughed. “Fair. Casey was _real_ pitchy.”

“...Huh. Yeah, guess she was.”

“And that _stupid_ puppet kept falling apart. They threw that shit together with hot glue and desperation.”

All valid points, but not the real dealbreaker. He thought about just letting it slide- she was pretty cute, and he didn’t like to offend anyone, let alone cute girls- but he didn’t want her thinking he was down to talk theatre. “I don’t like musicals.”

She didn’t look offended, just curious. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Watching people sing and dance, it- it makes me _very_ uncomfortable.”

“God,” she said, looking like she was trying not to laugh. “You must be in _hell.”_

 _“Oh,_ yeah.”

“Eat chips.”

“Thanks.”

They chewed on their chips in silence, and Paul took a moment to really take her in. She wasn’t really dressed for a party. Loose flannel shirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, smooth brown hair knotted in a messy bun on top of her head. Were those pyjama pants? “So- how can you _kinda_ live somewhere?”

“Casey’s letting me crash on her couch for a while.” She scowled into the Dorito bag. “I’ll probably have to move on soon, though. Think she’s pissed that she can’t make out with her boyfriend on my sleeping couch. Not unless she wants running commentary.”

“Something happen with your place?”

“I…” she snorted, picking out a broken chip and turning it over in her fingers. “Yeah, I did. I dropped outta school, so the college kicked me outta my dorm.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Probably should of planned that better.”

Paul didn’t really like asking personal questions at the best of times- he normally either didn’t care about the answer, or he cared a little too much and didn’t want the secondhand pain or embarrassment of it all. But something about this girl was… compelling? He wasn’t sure why, but he wanted to know more about her. “Why did you drop out?”

 _“Fuck_ knows,” she laughed bitterly, nearly spilling the chips when she threw her arms in the air. “I dunno, I was bored? Or _pissed off,_ I don’t… I don’t really know.”

“Oh.”

“I figured maybe I just needed to do… something else. I dunno, I thought I’d travel- but turns out you need money for that shit. And it’s kinda hard to get a job when you don’t even have a steady home address.”

“Yeah, that sounds bad.” He hoped he was coming across as politely sympathetic and not a condescending tool.

“Fuckin’ sucks, dude,” she sighed, shoving that poor broken chip in her mouth.

Paul wasn’t really sure what else to say on that, so he dropped it. Instead he swallowed his distaste and asked about something else. She kinda looked like she wanted to change the subject, anyway. “So, uh. I don’t think I recognise you, from the musical. Who did you play?”

“What.”

“What?”

 _“What_ did I play.” Her lips drew into a wry little twist. “You’re lookin’ at Audrey Two’s Left Leaf.”

“...Seriously?”

 _“Yup._ You may remember me from:” she stuck both arms above her head, chip bag and all, and sort of… flailed them. “This saucy lil’ move.”

A meme that Bill sent him popped into Paul’s head. The one that said ‘best quality: his wiggles’. He didn’t mention it- he’d learned from experience that trying to use memes in real conversation could kill them stone dead. Not _his_ experience, fortunately- mostly Ted’s. “Oh, yeah. I see it now.”

“My starring role.”

“Judi Dench is _quaking.”_

She burst into laughter, loud and extravagant and pretty damn infectious. Paul, hooked on the sound, felt giggles being wrenched out of him by proximity alone.

“Hey,” she wheezed, when she started to calm down. “What’s your name?”

He grinned- geez, he couldn’t remember the last time he _smiled_ this much- and held out his hand. “Paul.”

She looked at the hand in bemusement, but shook it anyway. It was a little mocking, but indulgent. “Hey, Paul. I’m Emma.”

“Emma,” he mumbled. He didn’t mean to say it out loud, but he kinda couldn’t resist- it suited her. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“...Hi.”

“Dork,” she chuckled, dropping his hand. He already missed it. “I like you.”

Paul couldn’t stop smiling. It’s like his grin was holding his face hostage. “You’re, um- you’re not so bad yourself. Y’know. For a theatre kid.”

She threw her head back and laughed. Paul decided then and there that it was his favourite sound. _“Asshole,”_ she said, punching him in the shoulder. It sounded and felt _fond._ And a little painful.

Rubbing his arm ruefully, Paul took a chance and bumped her with his shoulder. It was kinda daunting, getting into someone else’s space like that, but with Emma it didn’t feel so invasive. And when she swayed back to return the gesture, he felt… _accepted._ It wasn’t hard to see that she was a tactile person, who touched and prodded and spoke with her body as much as her mouth. There was something kinda liberating about falling in with that, playing along, speaking her language.

So naturally, Ted had to ruin it.

_“Paul!”_

He nearly jumped out of his skin. So did Emma, he vaguely noticed- could it be she was as hypnotised as he was? He shook off the thought and looked at the door, watching it swing off its hinges wearily. The energy in the room just got a whole lot more frantic. “Uh, hi, Ted.”

“Paul, we gotta go,” his friend blurted, dashing across to the window and peeking through the blinds like a man on the run. “I was totally about to score with that Rocky Hottie and her boyfriend caught us.”

“‘Rocky Hottie?’” Paul asked, bemused.

_“The chick in the Rocky Horror get-up, dude, catch up!”_

“There were like twelve of those, Ted.”

“It doesn’t _matter,_ Paul- what _matters_ is we gotta get out of here now before a fucking hulk in a gold thong caves my head in so c’mon, up, up, let’s go! _Ditch_ cheeto-fingers and move it!”

“Uhhhh, _fuck_ you?” Emma responded, flipping him off- with, admittedly, a very orange finger.

Ted scowled at her and shoved Paul’s shoulder on his way back to the door. “C’mon, dude, I’m _way_ too wasted to drive and if I try and beat this guy in a foot race Imma get my ass _handed_ to me. Outside, two minutes!”

“What about Melissa and Charlotte? What about Bill?”

 _“Fuck,_ Bill!”

“That’s not an ans-”

But it was too late- Ted had already stumbled drunkenly out the door to make like Mission Impossible. In that he was probably humming the theme music while trying to be stealthy. Paul sighed. If Ted got beat up before he made it to the car, it could probably be considered Darwinism in action. He looked at Emma apologetically, cheeks burning.

“He… he’s a character.”

She looked at the swinging door, unimpressed. “That’s _one_ way to put it.”

Paul shrugged helplessly. “We, uh. We got assigned dorms.”

“Ugh, say no more. You gonna go rescue him?”

“Yeah, I probably should.”

She smirked, tipping some of the last chip crumbs into his outstretched palm. “What a hero.”

It was clearly a joke, just some lighthearted sarcasm. Didn’t do anything to stop him blushing. “Well. Yeah. Yeah, okay, I should-” he tipped his head back and necked the crumbs, dusting off his palms when he was done. “Yeah. I’m on it. Uh. Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Y’know, the chips.” He rocked uneasily on his feet. “And, uh. The company.”

“I mean, technically _you_ got the chips,” she teased, nodding up towards the high shelf. “‘Cuz this house is fuckin’ heightist.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Guess that kinda makes you my hero, too.”

Paul almost tripped over his own feet. “Uh, that’s-”

She laughed, tossing the empty bag aside. “I’m just messing with you.”

He laughed dryly and tried not to feel too disappointed. “Oh. Yeah, obviously. Um, yeah. Later, Em.”

The nickname kinda slipped out, he didn’t even catch it ‘til he was halfway to the door and then it felt like it’d be _weird_ to turn round and address it. So he kept his mouth shut and walked, hoping he could get out of dodge before he did anything else stupid-

“Uh, actually. Emma?”

Oh. Apparently he wasn’t done yet. Awesome.

“Yeah, Paul?”

Taking a deep breath, he turned round to face her. She was sat on the counter now, legs crossed, licking Dorito crumbs from her fingers one by one. It was kinda hypnotic.

“Uh…”

She looked at him, and as she did so loudly pulled her mouth off her thumb with a _pop._ Well, fuck. “‘Sup?”

“We, uh. We have a couch.”

_What?!_

“What?” she echoed his thoughts, more confused than shocked.

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. He used to think he was kinda cool, in a laidback way. After meeting Emma, he figured he’d been dealt some cold, hard perspective. “Our dorm. There’s a couch. It’s, uh, it’s pretty big, it’s one of those sectionals. And comfy, too, I mean, _way_ comfier than any of us expected. I’ve fallen asleep on it a bunch.”

She blinked, not quite catching on. In fairness to her, it was one _hell_ of a non-sequitur. “...Good for you?”

“What I mean is… uh, it’s there. The couch. If you need it. If Casey decides she wants her make-out spot back.”

 _God,_ he should have just left. Now she was gonna think he was pushy and weird and possibly a predator and she was gonna remember this whole stupid conversation as the time some creep tried to lure her back to his lair and-

“Hey, thanks, man- that’s… that’s really cool of you.”

She didn’t… _sound_ creeped out. A bit surprised, sure, but not in a bad way? He relaxed a little, risking a glance at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She was smiling- it wasn’t one of her smirks, or her shit-eating grins. It was a new one, smaller and softer and kinda thoughtful. His new favourite, hands down. “Seriously, Paul, that’s…” she laughed again, a little quieter, and scratched her cheek. “Not gonna lie, man, I was starting to freak out a little. I’ve, uh. Kinda burned through a lot of my couch surfing options these last few months.”

“Well… you’re welcome.” He was grinning. He was grinning and he couldn’t stop it.

“Ugh, god, I bet everything in your place is up on high shelves, huh?”

“Uh. Yeah, some.”

“Guess it’s good I’m gonna have you there, huh?”

Was she…? “I’ll, uh. I’ll be there, alright.”

She smirked. “Pretty sweet deal.”

 _You’re telling me._ “Yeah. Pretty sweet.”

Ted’s shrill scream broke the moment.

Paul blanched and turned again. “Oh, _shit-_ sorry, Em, I gotta-”

“Yeah, yeah, go, go save your friend, oh my god.”

“It was really nice talking to you!”

Her laughter was like music to his ears. The _good_ kind, not the kind that obnoxiously sang in your face while you were trapped in your seat. “You too, Paul! Thanks for the chips!”

“Later!”

“Shit- wait, Paul!”

He stuck his head back through the door, wide-eyed. “What?” She waved her phone. He blushed. “Oh, shit, yeah- numbers.”

“I mean, I could just knock on every door ‘til I find you guys, but…”

He huffed, hastily trading phones to enter his details into hers. “Please. I think I can spare you all that smalltalk.”

She grinned, handing his phone back once her number was in there. _“My hero.”_

Paul didn’t have time to collapse over that, this time, so he didn’t. He was nothing if not practical under pressure.

He _was_ a blushing mess the entire time he spent breaking up Ted and his latest pissed-off attacker, though. Hopefully, anyone looking would see that he was stressed and breathless from trying to distract Rocky from his target and think no more of it.

* * *

That explanation didn’t fly when they were all home, camped out on the couch with cold water and pizza to alleviate the next morning’s hangover. Paul made the mistake of checking his phone, and the sight of the little ‘Em’ with a winky face in his contacts made all the blood rush to his face. Now _that_ gave everyone something to gossip about.

It was nothing compared to the rumours that spread when, two weeks later, a pretty college drop-out with overnight bags and a technique for making Paul blush seemingly invited herself to stay and made herself at home on their dorm room couch. The talk had settled down a little by the time she’d become fast friends with Bill, Melissa and Charlotte, verbal sparring partners with Ted, and all but _inseparable_ with Paul, even if some people still raised eyebrows in their direction.

By the time she emerged yawning from Paul’s bedroom, the couch seemingly untouched for the first of many mornings, people were talking again. But Paul couldn’t say he cared.

And Em, he realised as she sleepily ordered him to get down the Cap’n Crunch and kissed him on the cheek for his trouble, sure as hell didn’t. So fuck those guys.

“Hey, Em?”

Perched on the counter, just like she had been all those months ago- shit, nearly a year, now- Emma looked up, chewing her cereal drowsily. “Yeah?”

Paul took a swig of his coffee. If they were being honest, there was really only _one_ thing about their situation that was genuinely embarrassing. “If we’re still together in ten years…”

Her eyebrow shot up, but she didn’t cut in.

He winced. “Can we… _not_ tell our kids we met at a theatre party?”

She smiled wickedly. “In your fuckin’ dreams, Paul.”

**Author's Note:**

> (Responsible Adult disclaimer: be careful which random guys you move in with, kiddos, stay safe)
> 
> If you've made it this far thanks so much for reading! I still feel like I've got a ways to go before I'm fully comfortable in writing for these characters but this definitely came out easier than the first one, so we're getting there! Hugely appreciate all the love and feedback on my first fic, and if y'all have any more for this one I'm all ears- comments really keep me going, and I'm defo interested in figuring out what people like in a Paulkins fic! Thank you, lovelies <333
> 
> Until next time! <3


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